To Catch A Spy
by Allonswin
Summary: Human AU: John Smith, a waiter at fancy parties, despises his job and the boredom it brings. That is, until a certain blonde appears at a party, and he catches her in the process of murdering a man. He quickly learns that he's gotten himself mixed in with dangerous people - or rather, dangerous spies.
1. Prologue (Part 1)

**A/N:** Okay, so the title is temporary, probably. I've been working on this for a while now and honestly, I'm not sure how well it went, but I thought I would share it, anyway. It was inspired by the '_Mr. and Mrs. Smith_' manip of Rose and the Doctor on Deviantart (I believe the creator is rosechips?). Reviews are appreciated!

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Doctor Who or it's characters (and there are going to be a ton of characters making appearances in this).

Enjoy!

* * *

Shoulder length blonde hair, pale skin, bright red lips, and an awful lot of leg showing. Her dress, pitch black, was strapless. The left side dipped down to her ankle, meeting her black heel, while the right was split to her thigh; the cause of how much leg was available to be seen. On the mostly covered leg, there was a black strap around her thigh. John Smith swallowed, dragging his gaze away from the woman and instead sweeping it over the crowd of guests. He took a deep breath, beginning to brave the huddling drunks and not-so-drunks, carefully balancing a black waiters tray stacked with wine glasses in his right hand. He kept his other arm pressed painfully against his back.

He paused at the edge of the room, a sigh escaping his lips. Everything felt uncomfortable. His black suit was just a tad too tight and the white gloves on his hands were rubbing against his wrists and making it itch. To make it even worse, the fancy building he was currently in was crowded with people and it was horribly hot inside. Oh, he hated this job. He would take a different job any chance he got, without hesitation. Hell, he'd settle for being a garbage boy, if he had to. Problem was, he had an incredibly short attention span, so his previous jobs didn't really end well, and he doubted any future jobs would, either.

After a few moments, he realized he was staring at the woman again, and angrily made himself look away. He didn't understand what it was about the woman that kept stealing his attention. It wasn't the fact that she was impossibly gorgeous, although she was. No, there was something different about her. Like the other guests, she held her head high and spoke freely. However, she was almost a little too confident with herself. Not that that was bad, it was just... different. Unusual, considering the types of people who attended these parties. When she laughed, it was almost forced, and she didn't take any drinks - or, if she had, he hadn't seen her do so. All she did was stand off by herself, watching everyone, occasionally speaking with a dark haired man in the back of the room.

If someone tried to talk to her, or to flirt with her, she either waved them off or politely rejected them. After a year of working as a waiter and waiting at fancy, expensive parties, he'd learned how most people acted. They would wander around talking and drinking as much as they could until they were too drunk to form a correct sentence. Then, they would spend the rest of the night laughing and dancing and spending the night in the hotel rooms on the floor above with someone that they wouldn't even recognize when they woke up next to them the next morning, stripped of their clothing. Other times, sleeping with the other guests was the whole reason that people came. But John could tell, just by watching her, that this woman - this beautiful, confident, blonde woman - wasn't here for that. She hardly even looked as if she were here for a party.

He watched as she walked calmly towards the opposite end of the room, avoiding the dance pit and staying close to the gold pillars that towered down from the ceiling. A wolf whistle jerked him from his thoughts and he jumped, nearly sending his tray clattering to the floor. He whipped his head around, scowling. Eric, John's co-worker and best friend since Primary school, stood beside him, his nest of blonde hair spiking up in all directions on his head, much like John's thick brown hair. His wide, blue eyes sparkled. Eric's gaze was following the blonde woman as she walked around the room.

"You've certainly got you eye on a pretty woman," he smirked, winking. "Although, I don't think we're allowed to be chasing guests."

John felt blood rushing to his cheeks, and quickly tried to fight the blush, although he knew he had failed. "It isn't like that," he argued, shifting uncomfortably. Eric snorted, clearly not believing him.

"Who is she, anyway? I've never seen her before. I mean, aren't the people here usually famous, or whatever?"

John shrugged. "I'm not quite sure."

They both watched her cross the room, pausing as another waiter offered her a glass of wine. She shook her head and smiled, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers as she walked away, her other arm wrapped around her waist. It almost looked as if she was waiting for someone, or something, although he didn't voice his thoughts aloud. Eric bumped John's shoulder with his own, grinning.

"You should go talk to her. I'm sure it wouldn't hurt. Besides, I doubt it would take much. According to woman, you're attractive and nice, and apparently that's enough to get any drunken woman in bed."

John smiled and shook his head. "I'm not looking for that," he explained. He didn't mention the fact that not only was that not true, but the woman wasn't even drunk. Eric flashed him an odd look, although he didn't necessarily look surprised. John had never really been the one to go looking for one night stands. He wasn't even one to party. That was Eric's hobbies. The only reason he ever attended parties was because he was working. Never had he ever sneaked out of the house to attended some stupid teenage party that would only end up with everyone being arrested.

That wasn't to say that he didn't love the thrill of things like that. He loved getting in trouble; always had. He just didn't quite believe that getting high and drunk was the right way to go about it.

He would much rather be in a danger sort of trouble. Getting trapped in a pyramid or stuck on the top of a sky scrapper had always appealed to him. In fact, anything that included travelling anywhere appealed to him. He hated standing still for too long and he hated doing the same thing over and over again.

That was probably why he was always getting fired and why he hated his current job.

"Well," Eric straightened his back, snapping John from his thoughts once more. "If you won't, I will."

Before John could get another word in, Eric was crossing the room, winding around the dance pit, towards the woman. He watched, amused, as Eric approached her, a smirk on his face. He said something to her, and whatever it was much have offended her, because she glared at him and turned away as she spat out an insult at him, leaving him with a confused look on his face.

John chuckled and shook his head, directing his attention away from his friend. His eyes caught the gaze of an older man, probably in his eighties, sitting on a couch at the end of the room near the bar. The man had gray, thinning hair, which was slicked back over his head. He was slightly chubby and his skin was wrinkled. He wore a suit and a bow tie, much like the outfit of a waiter, yet something separated him from the staff. It was obvious he was a guest, and a rather important one at that. Feeling a little nervous, John started across the room, his heart pounding in his chest. He stood up straighter and tucked his arm behind his back again.

"Sir," he greeted, now standing in front of the guest. He lowered his arm so that he could take a glass off of the tray without having to stand up. The man simply laughed, and it seemed like forever before he stopped, making John feel rather uncomfortable.

"No, no," he said, his voice a little shaky from old age. He stood up, still chuckling. John took an uncertain step back, biting down on his lip. "I wanted to ask you a favor," the old man continued, smiling. John blinked, shocked. What? Guests _never _spoke to the staff. They just didn't. To the guests, the staff were just their alcohol providers, and nothing else. It was only on a rare occasion that they were even thanked for serving them. So, why on Earth was this man, presumably a celebrity or someone of high importance, speaking to him?

"My name is Alec," the man said slowly, looking lost in thought. John watched as 'Alec' began digging around in his pocket, his his eyebrows furrowing. After a minute or two of awkward silence between the two of them, he pulled something from his pocket. John studied it curiously, frowning. It was a silver key strung through a rusting, copper chain. The key had the word 'Mitch' inscribed in it in a simple font. Alec smiled. "Stick your hand out."

Hesitantly, John did as told, staring at Alec with a questioning gaze. Carefully, Alec lowered the key in the palm of John's gloved hand. The old man's hand curled John's fingers up and over the object, smiling and patting his fist. "Just hold on to that for me, will you?"

"Uh... I'm sorry, sir, but I'm... I'm afraid that I can't take this."

The old man smiled, but his eyes carried a touch of impatience. "I'm not giving it to you. I'm asking you to keep a hold on it. Who knows how many people here would love to get their hands on this." Alec's gaze darted across the room. John followed his gaze, and bit back a sniff of surprise. His eyes had landed on the blonde woman and she was watching them - or, more specifically, John - with an cold look on her face.

John shivered and snapped his gaze back to the man, swallowing. Was that woman one of the people who wanted the key? Why? What could be so important about it? What did it go to? He wanted answers more than anything, but he knew for a fact that he wasn't going to be getting any.

* * *

A couple minutes later, the woman left to go upstairs, taking the elevator. She didn't talk to him, and as soon as she had realized he had seen her staring, she had looked away and kept her distance from him. John was utterly confused, and not having answers was frustrating him. He loved not knowing things for the most part, but this was just annoying.

Alec had quickly abandoned him, forcing him to keep the key. When John had asked Eric's thoughts about it, Eric had simply laughed, called Alec a drunk, and continued to flirt with a brunette woman. John hadn't bothered him any further.

Nearly half an hour later, he was approached by a rather intimidating looking guard. He stood about four inches taller than John and he had square shoulders and a very serious looking face with small eyes. John felt rather awkward under his gaze.

"We are evacuating." He spoke with an almost robotic voice.

"What?" John frowned, putting his waiter tray down on a nearby table. He glanced around. Sure enough, people were beginning to leave, although they didn't look very happy about it. "Why?"

"Safety precautions," the guard grumbled, and before John could even begin to start moving, the guard had gripped his shoulders and was hauling him towards the exit, his face straight. John yelped in pain, struggling to free from his grip. He spat out several cuss words, twisting and turning. The guards hands dropped to grab him at his upper fore arms and he squeezed tight enough to cut off the blood circulation in his arms. Guests, both drunk and not, watched curiously as he was tossed outside, landing on the concrete outside with a loud thud when his head smacked against the pavement. Pain flooded his head for a few moment, but it faded quickly. A woman shuffled up to him uncertainly, asking him if he was alright. He waved her off, scowling and climbing to his feet.

Eric was by his side in an instant. He was laughing. "Why did he throw you out?"

"I don't know," John growled coldly, wiping off the dirt and gravel that was clinging onto his suit. When he looked up, he could see that several other people were being thrown out, too. People yelled angrily at the three men doing the deed. "What's going on?" John hissed under his breath. All three of the guards all looked almost dead when it came to their expressions. All three were emotionless, staring blankly ahead.

People were getting more restless and angrier by the minute. All around him, he could hear screaming as people tried to find out why they were being evacuated. John turned to ask Eric if he knew anything, but the blonde was gone. Frowning, he glanced behind him. Eric was flirting with a drunk brunette woman, and she seemed to be enjoying it, because pretty soon she had her lips jammed roughly against his and her fingers digging into his hair and people were actually encouraging them, laughing and watching. They didn't look like they were going to be breaking up anytime soon, either, unless someone stopped them. God, how drunk were these people?

Sighing, John started towards them, wanting to speak with Eric, but he stopped mid-step as an angry yowl filled the air. Nobody else seemed bothered by it, but somehow, he recognized it. He spun back around, his eyes narrowed, anger swirling through his veins. One of the guards had his arms wrapped around the blonde woman. Her hair was a mess and her brown eyes were filled with annoyance. Once they were on the porch, she shoved him away, stumbling forward and tumbling into the rich, green grass. He started to move forward, to help her to her feet, but she quickly stood back up by herself, her eyes darting in every direction.

John paused. She didn't looked embarrassed. She seemed to be looking for someone. Who? John watched curiously, slinking to the side to stay hidden by the crowd. Her gaze scanned the crowd of people, her lips pursed. She kept inching off to the side. He realized in a bit of confusion that she was checking to make sure no one was watching her. And, as far as she was concerned, no one who wasn't drunk was. Except for him, of course, but she didn't know that. Suddenly, she spun around, slowly walking to the side of the building. From where he was, he wasn't able to see what she was doing, so, as subtly as he could, he slunk through the crowd, dodging drunk idiots until he reached the edge. He watched, a small gasp of surprise escaping his lips, watching as she climbed through a window, into the building.

For a few moments, he stood, unmoving. What on Earth was she doing? Why was she going back inside? Certainly there was nothing inside that she needed to get? There was, of course, the chance that she was just being rebellious, but she didn't exactly look the type. John bit his lip uncertainly, his brow furrowed. Curiosity was beginning to burn in his chest. Where was she going? He glanced around at the people around him, rocking back on his heels. He wanted to follow her, more than anything. This was the kind of trouble that was appealing to him. Sneaking into a building. He ran a hand through his thick brown hair, scrunching up his nose and sighing.

What if he were to be caught? Would he be arrested? He couldn't afford to be arrested at the moment. He couldn't afford the fines of breaking into a building. _Well__..._ he smirked, slowly beginning to inch towards the open window that the blonde had gone through, his eyes darting back to make sure that nobody was watching. There was a simple resolution to his problem, if he really thought about it. He just wouldn't get caught.

* * *

It took him a bit longer to get inside of the building than he would have liked. The window was higher off the ground than he had previously thought. He ended up ripping the pants of his suit, and when he was finally over the window sill, he fell to the ground, narrowly missing a table. Groaning, he laid winded for a few moments, his head spinning. How had the woman gotten through so easily? She must have been used to sneaking into buildings. Pushing himself up off the ground, he stumbled to his feet, putting a hand to his head.

He took a deep breath and stood still for a few moments, examining the room. It was so much nicer when it wasn't flooded with people and music and party lights. All of the party lights had been turned off, so the area was just bathed in it's normal white light. Carefully, he started forward, tiptoeing through the ball-like room to avoid getting caught. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest, he almost wondered if someone would be able to hear it. He accidentally kicked a red party cup and he froze instantly, wincing. He wasn't used to this; he was a complete mess.

After a few minutes, no one came, so he started forward again, his eyes roaming the room. He had jumped down into the dance pit (which was only a step down from the rest of the room and had the floor painted brown instead of tan), which was probably a mistake, considering when he had landed, the sound echoed around room. Still, no one came. Where had those guards gone? And more importantly, where had the woman gone?

Chewing on his lower lip, he stopped walking, looking around with an arched eyebrow and his gloved hands stuffed into his pockets. Now that people weren't constantly moving around, the area was much colder and he shivered. This was odd. He started towards the staircase at the right side of the room. It was painted the same light tan color as the rest of the room and it was about two and a half yards wide. A duplicate of the staircase was at the opposite end of the room and they both followed the circular structure of the room until they joined about a mile high in the air and then led to the next level of the building. He quickly began hurrying up the steps, skipping one every once in a while. When he reached the top, he felt a little out of breath, but he ignored it, continuing to search through the building.

This floor was the first floor of hotel rooms. There were nearly one hundred rooms on each floor. Pursing his lips, he started through the first hallway, scanning the rooms. The walls of the hallways were brown, with lighter, vertical stripes, each about a foot apart. About three small chandeliers hung from the ceiling in each hallway. Each cherry brown colored door was framed with a gold-painted wood, which were all engraved with fancy designs. Some of the doors were left open and he chuckled, imagining the occupants being interrupted in their activity to be evacuated. Poor them. He searched several hallways, but still, he found nothing. It was as if they had all simply vanished. He wandered into another hallway, bored, until suddenly, a voice reached his ears, and he froze mid step, swallowing. It was definitely a female voice, and she sounded annoyed. Creeping forward, he started towards the room that the voice was coming from. When he stood in front of it, he could definitely tell that whoever it was was inside of this particular room. He glanced up at the sign on the cherry wood door. Room 10, Hallway 6.

For a moment, he thought about knocking, but figured that would be a pretty stupid move, considering he wasn't meant to be in the building in the first place. Carefully, he crouched down, slowly pulling the door open. It opened silently, thank God. However, what was on the inside of the room made him freeze.

The blonde woman was standing next to a man who had on a dark blue military coat. He had rich brown hair and his face was scrunched up in annoyance. That wasn't what had caught his attention, though. What had caught his attention was that fact that the two of them both had handguns, and they were pointed at a man dressed in a black suit. Blood was covering the man's scarred face and he was strapped to a chair, laughing. His mess of brown hair was slicked back with a touch too much hair gel.

"Tell us where it is!" Snapped the woman, her hand tightening on the gun. The man in the chair simply laughed again. Clearly, the woman was fed up with it, because without a second thought, she relaxed, pulled the trigger, and stepped back. The man's body jerked and then he fell still, blood pooling from the wound in his forehead and leaking from his mouth. The wall behind him had been splattered with blood. John couldn't hold back the horrified gasp that escaped his lips. At the sound, both the woman and the trench coated man whipped around to face him, both looking shocked. John snapped back to life after a few seconds of staring, jumping to his feet.

"O-oh my God," was all he could stutter out before bolting down the hallway, his ears ringing. What had he just seen? Well... that was obvious. He had just seen a murder. _Oh God, oh God, oh God, I'm going to die, aren't I?_ he thought, stumbling down the hallway, tripping over the dark red carpet beneath his feet. He staggered sideways, his arms shooting out to the wall to keep himself upright. His legs were weak and were hardly supporting him - probably due to his shock. What was he going to do if he survived? Report it to the police? But wouldn't they ask him what he was doing in a building he wasn't meant to be in? He felt sick to his stomach and his mouth had gone dry. He shouldn't be thinking about that. He should be thinking about how he was going to escape.

Perhaps through a window? He could go into one of the rooms and leap out, but that was only if he wanted to break his legs. He couldn't possibly escape down the staircase; he'd be shot dead in no time flat, and he'd seen enough movies to know that going up to the roof wasn't the smartest idea. Right now, there didn't seem to be a way out, and that terrified him.

He could hear footsteps pounding after him, yelling at him to stop, but he didn't listen. Why should he? Why in the world did they think he would stop after he'd witnessed them _murdering_ someone? The thought sent shivers down his spine and he groaned. His eyes caught the elevator and he scrambled towards it, but never got the chance as a rather familiar face stepped out from around the corner, an amused glint in his eyes. John stumbled to a stop, his mouth hanging open.

Alec titled his head, smiling a yellow-teethed grin, and John felt his heart sink. What had he gotten himself into? Even better question, what had he done to deserve this? This was terrifying! "Hello," Alec said. The shakiness in his voice had disappeared, replaced by a voice that was far too young to fit the old man's body. John shuddered, horrified, as the woman and the man rounded the corner, guns still in hands. He squeaked, his hands flying up as they pointed their guns at his back. "Oh, God," he choked out quietly, grinding his teeth together and squeezing his eyes shut tight.

This was a terrible way to die.

Alec, the woman, and the man were completely silent for a few moments. Then, slowly, the woman spoke, in a voice that shouldn't be as soothing as it was, considering the situation. "Just give as the key, and we won't shoot," she said slowly. John frowned, his breathing labored. Key? What... oh. He pursed his lips, his entire body shaking.

"They key," he repeated slowly, glancing at her over his shoulder. The blonde nodded slowly. Alec scowled.

"No!" He snapped, stepping forward, and John immediately stepped back, wincing. The old man closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He held his hand out, his muscles tense. "The key is mine. Give it to me."

Oh again. John's eyes flickered between the three people, confusing rifling through his thoughts. Who were the good people here? Slowly, his lowered his hand to his pocket to reach for the key. The trench coated man must have thought he was reaching for a weapon, because suddenly, his hands tightened on his gun, and before John could react, a loud, horrifying sound pierced the air, and he felt a pain drilling into his leg. He dropped to the ground almost immediately, his scream echoing through the halls. The key, which he had been grasping in his hand, fell to the ground, and Alec instantly snatched it up, then turned to run down the hall. The trench coated man yelled in frustration and moved to chase him, but the woman's hand gripped his upper forearm to stop him.

"Oh my God, Jack!" She spat. The brunette man, who was apparently named Jack, frowned.

"What? Rose? What did I do?"

Rose sighed in exasperation. "You shot him in the leg!" John groaned, clutching at his leg and gritting his teeth. Blood soaked through his black pants, dripping onto his hands and ruining his white gloves. It dripped to the ground, staining the carpet a deeper shade of red. He frowned, suddenly feeling dizzy.

Was it meant to bleed this much? Was it meant to feel as if someone was stabbing him repeatedly in the leg? Pain was flooding his body, and he felt rather helpless. He dug his fingers into the area around the wound, refusing to let himself cry. Slowly, the blonde - Rose - walked up to him, a cautious look on her face. Her eyes dropped to the wound, and the caution was replaced with worry. The last thing John heard was Rose telling off Jack, before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped backwards, unconscious.


	2. Prologue (Part 2)

**A/N:** So, I've tried using 'British words' instead of 'American words', such as lorry instead of semi-truck, but I can't promise that I'll always remember to do that! Just a warning, in case I forget. :) The first 'mission' is more of an introduction to this story, to be honest, but I promise it'll (probably) get more action-packed in a bit!

* * *

"Who do you think he is?"

John stirred ever so slightly at the voice, frowning. "I don't know, really," replied another woman. She was prodding at his leg with something, but she wasn't being very gentle. Pain spiraled up his body and he restrained from making a noise, instead clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut. He frowned, swallowing nervously.

Memories of earlier events caused panic to grip his chest and he quickly tried to force it away, without much luck.

"He looks like a waiter," an American accented voice mumbled. John faintly recalled the voice belonging to the man who had shot him and he shivered, remembering the pain. The throbbing had died down in his leg, but the more the person poked at the wound, the more it began to hurt.

"Jack, do you honestly think that Alec would give that key to a waiter?"

"Yes," Jack answered with a shrug, and the woman working on his leg giggled. Rose laughed softly, but didn't reply. Finally, he worked up enough courage to open his eyes just a little. He yelped as he met the brown of an admittedly handsome man, his eyes flying open all the way. Jack jumped backwards in surprise, yelping in return. Rose jumped to her feet, frowning. John forced himself to sit up, and immediately regretted it, wincing as pain shot up his leg again. Everyone in the room stilled, except for the woman by his leg. She was darker-skinned and her black hair was shiny and pulled up into a ponytail. She wore simple jeans and something that looked a bit like an pink undershirt. A white doctors coat was slung over his shoulder. She was wrapping bandages around his leg.

He realized with a twinge of embarrassment that he was no longer wearing pants.

The room became frustratingly quiet, every eye trained on him. He pursed his lips, willing this all to be a dream. His breath came out uneven. His fingers were digging into the floor, attempting to find something to grip, but was unable to do so due to the floor being metal.

"Uhm," was all he could say, drawing in a shuddering breath. It occurred to him that at the moment, he was trapped inside God knows where with three people who could all be potential serial killers. The thought made his heart start to hammer in his chest and he swallowed, his mouth going dry. The woman finished wrapping his leg and cut off the end bit, clipping the loose end to the rest of the wrapping. She sat back, examining her work for a few moments before shrugging and standing up, moving to the end of the room, where she grabbed a pair of light, pre-faded jeans and walked back to John, tossing them to him.

He caught them awkwardly and ended up dropping them, a blush rising to his cheeks. Jack snickered, looking away. Rose was grinning but she shook her head at Jack. "Don't be mean."

"I hadn't said anything yet," Jack argued. Rose giggled, pursing her lips to hide her smile and looking away. Frowning, John quickly pulled the pair of jeans on. He moved to stand up but the woman who had wrapped his head shook her head at him and he sighed, slumping back down. He felt awkward and nervous. And where was he, anyway? He wanted to ask, but the image of Rose shooting the man dead was still implanted in his mind and he couldn't shake it off.

He shivered at the memory and tried desperately to push it away, with failure. Sighing, he looked around the room slowly. Rose had sat back down on a cream colored couch which was pushed up against a steel wall. She was watching him with a curious look glowing in her eyes. She was still wearing the revealing black dress.

Jack was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He seemed to be paying more attention to the other woman though, watching as she proceeded to clean up medical supplies from the floor. Lights hung limply from the ceiling and he realized in a bit of confusion that the room was small and rectangular and they were moving; they were in a lorry. The only furniture the room contained was the couch that Rose was seated on to the right, a desk and a chair near the back, and by the left wall, counters and cupboards which had somehow been nailed into place to keep them up. The large door rattled as the truck drove on.

"So," Rose said suddenly, dragging him from his thoughts. She spoke in a way that declared that she was feeling just as awkward as he was. He glanced uncertainly at Rose, blinking at her. "Who are you? What's your name?"

John stared at her for a minute, debating whether or not to tell her. "Eric," he lied. He had no trouble lying to her. He was used to lying about all sorts of things, and lying about his name wasn't exactly a new thing. Usually, if he or Eric were in tight situations, they would simply use each others names.

Rose stared at him, frowning. "Eric what?"

"Day."

"Eric Day?" Jack cut in, raising an eyebrow. John snapped his head towards Jack, nodding. Jack frowned and stuck out his lower lip, shrugging.

"Do you work for Alec then, Eric?"

John glanced at the medical woman as she spoke, looking her up and down for a moment. "No," he mumbled, sniffing and sitting up again. He was a little afraid of what they would have done if his answer had been 'yes'. It didn't take a genius to know that these people were cruel, judging by the way Rose had killed the man without a second thought.

"Are you sure?"

John frowned. "Yes."

Jack took a step forward, dropping his arms to his side. "You better mean that. It would be a shame to have to kill such a handsome guy, even if you are an idiot."

John frowned, glaring at Jack as he strode to the counters, reaching up to the cupboards and pulling down what appeared to be wine bottle. "I went to Cambridge," he mumbled under his breath. Still, everyone seemed to hear what he had said.

Rose titled her head, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Cambridge. University."

"You..." she giggled softly, trailing off for a moment. "You attended Cambridge and then... became a waiter?"

John blushed, shrugging. It wasn't exactly his fault. By the time he got out of university, he hadn't really had enough money to do much else. He didn't mention that he had in fact tried other jobs, but had never been interested in them enough to focus correctly. Jack eyed him oddly, then took the top off his bottle and took a swig of the drink. John drew his uninjured leg up to his chest, resting his chin on it and staring at the ground.

What had happened back at the party? Had everyone gotten away uninjured? Most importantly, was Eric alright? Depression swirled inside of him at the idea of Eric being dead or injured. He quickly shook it off. Eric was sneaky, even if he was an idiot most of the time. If Eric were in danger, he would know it, drunk or not, and he would get himself out as soon as possible. That was why Eric had never been arrested at parties.

John glanced up as Rose suddenly got to her feet and moved to the back of the lorry, towards the desk. Jack followed after her, still holding the bottle. He sat on top of the desk while Rose collapsed into the chair and they began mumbling quietly to each other. Swallowing and feeling a bit uncomfortable, he scooted over towards the wall, settling near the couch. He leaned his back against the wall and pulled both legs to his chest, ignoring the pain. He buried his face between his knees, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

A shuddering breath escaped his lips. _Don't cry__, don't cry, don't cry_, he repeated to himself in his head, quivering. He could feel the need to cry in his chest, and he wanted to let it out. Just not here. Not now.

"Hey."

John glanced up at the gentle voice, his eyes narrowing. He didn't even try to make it subtle as he reached up to wipe tears from his eyes. The woman whose name he had yet to learn smiled down at him. She was holding something out to him. He glanced at it, and realized in surprise that it was a wrapped up peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "Unless you're allergic to peanuts. I can get you something else, if you want?"

For the first time since he'd woken up, John felt the ache of hunger in his stomach. He shook his head, eagerly reaching for the food. She sat down next to him, pulling out her own sandwich. "I'm Martha, by the way. In case you were wondering."

He nodded slowly, unwrapping the sandwich. "Thank you," he mumbled, placing the wrapping next to him. Martha nodded, pursing her lips. He took a small bite, glancing uncertainly at Martha. She laughed at his hesitance.

"I haven't poisoned it, don't worry."

He chuckled, taking a larger bite. He liked Martha, he decided. So far, she hadn't killed anybody, and she wasn't acting hostile towards him in any way. Then again, neither were Rose and Jack, but Jack had shot him in the leg and Rose had killed a man, which sort of spoiled his opinions of them.

"Are you okay?" She asked, biting on her lip. John glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, that depends. Emotionally? No, not really. Physically, I'm getting better."

Martha flashed him a sympathetic look. "Rose and Jack really aren't bad people, you know..."

"She killed a man," John replied coldly.

"I know. I saw."

"What?" He looked at her, frowning. "How?"

"A camera," she said simply, but she didn't offer any more of an explanation. He sighed and decided to drop that.

"She killed a man," he repeated, "and wasn't even bothered by it."

"He was a bad person," Martha shrugged, taking another bite of her sandwich. John took the last bite of his own and glanced down at his hands. His gloves were not longer on. Martha must have taken them off him at some point. Sighing, he sat up a bit, peeling off his suit jacket and tossing it to the side. He undid his bow tie and threw that in the same direction, slumping backwards again.

"So?" John finally answered.

Martha stared at him for a few seconds, her brow furrowed. "He... he deserved it..."

John's gaze hardened and he glanced away, disgusted. "Did he?" He spat out. "Did he really? Did you even know his name? His relationship status? He could have had kids."

Martha didn't reply. She had looked away. John looked back at her, frowning, and he winced as he realized he'd upset her - the only person who had been properly kind to him so far. "I'm sorry," he sighed, raking his hand through his messy hair. Martha shrugged.

"It wasn't my choice, and it wasn't there's. It's part of their job."

John quickly took the opportunity to ask a question. "What _is _their job?"

Martha grinned at him, laughing. John arched an eyebrow, confused. "What?"

Whatever she was going to say, she was cut off, because suddenly, the truck jerked to a stop. John fell sideways, wincing at the pain in his leg. Martha jumped to her feet, swiftly moving across the room. As carefully as he could managed, John pulled himself up to his feet. He wrinkled his nose, standing still for a few moments as blood rushed through his legs. Finally, he took a step forward, and nearly fell. Jack, who had came up closer, grinned.

"Need me to carry you?" He asked, winking. Frustrated, John shook his head and turned away, standing up straighter.

"Stop it, Jack," Martha said as she walked back towards them. John rubbed the side of his arm, watching as Rose strode forward. The black strap on her thigh now had her handgun in it.

"Let's go," she said, a fake cheeriness to her voice. John trailed behind, keeping a slow pace so he didn't injure his leg any further. Jack lifted up the door and they all climbed out, each one of them landing easily after jumping; even Rose, in her high heels. John jumped down and staggered forward, gasping as pain arrowed up his leg. He nearly fell over, but Jack caught him around the waist, pulling him up and turning him around so that Jack's face was only a few inches away from John's.

"Nice fall," Jack grinned, patting John's cheek lightly. John shivered again under his touch, taking a nervous step back. Jack just shrugged, then started to walk away towards a door. John hung his head for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He still felt uncomfortable and scared around these people, and he doubted there would be a minute when he didn't. Martha was okay... but then again, John hadn't seen her shooting someone in the head. Yet, anyway. Sighing softly, he rubbed the back of his neck and took the moment to look around; not that there was much to look at. They had parked in a dirty, old alleyway. They were surrounded by buildings that looked to be abandoned from this side. Trash littered the ground and the area stunk.

He wrinkled his nose, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"Come on!" Rose snapped crossly at him. He jumped in surprise, glancing up. They were standing by the door, Martha inside looking back at him with a raised eyebrow. Wincing, he stumbled forward, limping a little.

Once they were inside, John trailed behind, his mouth a little dry. He couldn't see at all. It was probably intentional that all the lights were off so that he couldn't see where they were going, but the darkness was making him nervous. He had always hated the dark.

Once, when he was little, he had run away from his mum in a store. She left, thinking he had run home, when in reality, he had hid in a shelf, buried behind stuffed animals. Eventually, the store locked up and turned the lights off and everyone left, leaving him all alone. He remembered that night better than any other childhood memory. He remembered how scared and alone he had felt, curled up in a ball under the front counter, crying his little heart out and waiting desperately for morning to come. He remembered the pain of feeling like he'd been abandoned. In the morning, when his mum had come back, worried out of her mind, he'd cried even harder and hadn't let her go for months. She had given him a stern lecture, but after that, she'd hugged him for fifteen minutes straight, him sobbing into her shoulder and hugging her so tightly, it was as if his life depended on it.

Ever since then, not only had he been terrified of the dark and being left alone, but he'd had a strong fondness for hugs, which sometimes bothered people.

"Hey, again."

John stiffened at the sudden voice, whipping his head around to stare at Martha. "Hi," he replied.

"How's your leg?"

He glanced down in the darkness to stare at him leg, frowning. He hadn't been thinking about it before, but now that he was, he could feel it starting to ache again. "Why do you care?" He mumbled, and instantly regretted it. Martha's gaze lifted to his face and for a moment, he thought she would yell at him. Instead, she sighed.

"It's my job," she mumbled.

Oh. John cleared his throat, nearly tripping over himself as they rounded a corner. "It's... fine, I guess. It hurts."

She was quiet for a few moments. "Yeah, it would. Sorry that Jack shot you."

"It wasn't your fault..."

"Uh..." a nervous laugh escaped her lips and John stopped walking for a moment. "Actually," she said slowly, sounding a bit embarrassed. "I was sort of the one who told him to shoot you."

John stared at her in the darkness, frowning. Great. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to feel angry or annoyed. In fact, he was almost amused. "Thanks," he croaked, and Martha laughed a little. He couldn't help but smile.

"Hey, speed up a bit, will ya'? Haven't got all day!"

His smile fell at Rose's voice and he closed his eyes, remembering his situation. "Martha..." he whispered quietly into the darkness, feeling fear crawling up his skin again.

"Yeah?" She whispered back.

"Are they... am I going to be allowed to... you know... live?"

Martha was silent for a few moments. Her hand wrapped against his wrist and she began dragging him down the hallway. "_Martha_," he whimpered, hating the way fear had flooded his voice. "_Please._"

"I don't know," she finally said.

"Don't lie to make me feel better."

"I don't," she sighed. "I really don't. We've never had this situation before, believe it or not."

"What situation?"

Martha looked at him again, biting down on her lip. "We've never had a civilian interrupt a mission - if a civilian is really what you are."

"Mission?" He repeated, frowning as she began to jog down the hallway. "What is your guys' job?" He hissed under his breath, hoping Rose wouldn't hear.

"Oh, come on," Martha snorted. "You have to have guessed by now. And don't you dare say the F.B.I, because you know that's not true."

"Spies only exist in movies," he blurted out, frowning. They rounded a corner again and then slowed to a walking pace. He could hear Jack and Rose talking ahead of them again. Jack said something and Rose burst out laughing. They really were human, weren't they? They weren't sociopath's, even if Rose had shot that man. Still, he couldn't shake off the fear he felt around them.

"There were spies in World War II," Martha reminded him, nudging his shoulder gently. John frowned, shaking his head.

"No, but... _your_ kind of spies... those kind of spies," he corrected himself. "Spies that run around going undercover and wearing costumes and fighting and... like _Chuck_. Spies like that don't exist."

"Think again," Martha mumbled simply. John stopped walking once again, raising an eyebrow.

"So... you're actually spies?"

Martha didn't reply. Instead, she started to walk quicker, dragging him along with her. His breath hissed between his teeth at the pain in his leg. He staggered forward, nearly tripping over himself, but Martha kept him upright.

"Where are we going?" He mumbled.

Rose answered the question. "The lab."

He glanced at her in the darkness. Now that they had entered a new hallway, he was able to see just a little better. The base of the walls were lined with dim, red lights. Her blonde hair, once waved just perfectly, had become a bit of a mess. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach and she looked a bit angry. At the look on her face, John flinched, scared once again. This was really just an off day for him, wasn't it?

Eventually, after what seemed like forever of dark and silence, they came to a stop in front of a door. Jack pulled out keys and opened the door. Much to John's delight, white light flooded the hall. He relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief, following them into the room. Cautiously, he looked around, nearly expecting someone to be hidden in the room and pointing a gun at his head. Thankfully, there wasn't.

Instead, to the left, there was simply a white room, and in the middle of that room, was a single chair, and for some reason, that scared him more than a gun pointed at his head would. He swallowed, glancing at Jack and Rose. Rose and moved to the right side of the room. A glass wall split the room in half, and on the right side was a control panel and the room was darkened. Rose sat down in a swirly chair behind the controls and began to type something in. Jack closed the door behind him and then gripped John's upper arm. Instantly, John tried to jerk away, panic building in his chest.

An odd noise escaped his lips and Jack frowned. "Whoa..." he chuckled softly, "hey, you all right? Calm down, you'll be fine."

John didn't calm down of course. Not on the inside, anyway. On the outside, he stood straighter, and tried to keep a straight face as Jack led him towards the chair and pushed him down into it. Jack's eyes flickered with amusement. "How inappropriate would it be to straddle you right now?"

"Jack!" Martha and Rose both snapped at the same time. Jack only laughed and then, before John could move, cuffed John to the chair. He groaned and slumped down, his heart beginning to pick up pace once more. Jack moved back behind the glass, John watching with wide, scared eyes. A sympathetic look was flashed in his direction.

"All right, Eric, I'm just going to ask you a few questions. Answer them truthfully, please." Rose began typing into the the controls again and John shifted uncomfortably. This all seemed very cliché to him, but he nodded.

"Where are you from?" Rose asked, frowning at him.

John sat silently for a few moment, simply listening to his heart pounding in his ears. His hands had balled into fists and his jaw was clenched. What was this? Why was she asking him questions? "London," he finally answered, but his voice cracked.

Jack made a mark on something that John was unable to see.

"How old are you?"

He paused again, staring at Rose through the glass. She stared right back and he stiffened under her gaze. Why was this necessary? He shifted in his chair, looking down at his lap. "Twenty four..."

Rose was silent for a few moments, typing furiously at a keyboard. John swallowed, closing his eyes. "Do you would for Alec, Eric?"

"No." His voice came out as a whisper. He kept his eyes shut, his eyebrows furrowed. He was beginning to feel dizzy and his chest was aching.

"That's it, then. That's all I need. Everythin' he said was true."

He let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. The room went quiet as he hung his head, gritting his teeth and trying to choke back the whimpers and sobs. There was the quick scuttle of feet coming towards him, but he refused to open his eyes, even as they uncuffed him. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and burying his face in his hands.

"You okay?"

As soon as Jack spoke, something inside of John snapped. He sat up, eyes blazing with anger. "Am I okay, Jack? I don't know. Do I look okay? Honestly, look at me, and be a normal human being. _Do I look okay?_ In one day I've seen a man murdered for God knows what, been shot in the leg, lost contact with my best friend, and had some sort of a _test_ and I don't know why, because no one will explain! I'm alone and I'm in pain and I just want my life back, which is saying a lot, considering I hate my job. I don't want to be caught up in whatever this is. I just want to go home. So, no. Quite frankly, I'm not okay." He sat back with a heavy thud, his chest heaving from lack of breath. Everyone stared at him, looking a bit embarrassed. He raked a hand through his hair, messing it up even more and letting out a heavy sigh.

"Do you _want_ an explanation?" Rose suddenly asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know," he replied honestly, shrugging helplessly. He ran a hand through his hair and then pushed himself to his feet, wobbling unsteady. He nearly fell, but Jack caught him and held him up.

"If you want an explanation," Jack said, looking him up and down. "We can give you one. But you might not like the answer."

He raised an eyebrow at the man. "Are you going to kill me afterward?"

"No," Jack laughed. John stared at him for a few moments before nodding, and with that, Jack began leading him towards the exit, this time being much more careful with how he treated him.

* * *

They walked down the hallway for only a few minutes this time before coming to another room. Jack held open the door for them. Once inside, John couldn't help but smile. He'd been expecting something a bit different. Something more official, something more intimidating, and something... cleaner. Instead, he was faced with a relatively small room that seemed to only contain a desk, which was flooded with different objects. Maps sat on the right side and on the left, a computer monitor with a lamp dangling over it to provide light for the keyboard. There wasn't any room for much of anything, since papers and cases and contains were laid out across the desk. To the right of the desk was a small stand that was flooded with post cards. To the left, a bulletin board was attached to an old wooden wall. Photos and papers were pinned to it. Then, a little to the right of the board, a clock. Below that, a small sign that read 'staff only', and below that, and old looking paper with to humanoid figures on it, one blue, the other pink. A doorway was behind the desk, the room inside covered by bead curtains. He could just manage to see shelves inside, stacked with red binders.

"This it then?" He asked in amusement, turning his attention to Jack. Jack smirked.

"You'd think so," he chuckled, then made his way to the room behind the desk. Martha and Rose exchanged glances, then started towards the right of the room. Jack leaned into the room and pulled something on the inside of the door, and John let out a surprised gasp as the seemingly stone part of the wall opened. Martha gaze flickered to him as it did and she laughed at his reaction, a wide grin spreading across her lips. He flashed her a look of disbelief as Rose and Jack disappeared down the newly revealed hallway. Martha waited, a smug look plastered on her face. Shaking his head, John started forward, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Do you guys even understand the meaning of cliché?" He mumbled as he passed, and Martha laughed again, skipping to his side after she pulled the sliding door shut behind her.

They caught up to Jack and Rose quickly. They were headed towards an elevator. John's gaze lowered and his eye caught the gun still strapped to Rose's thigh. He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment. How hard would it be, he wondered, for her to pick that up and shoot him in the chest? Or, the forehead, like the other man? Would she regret it afterward? Does she ever regret killing people? He figured that she was used to killing, but did it ever bother her? For some reason, he doubted it did, and that made him a bit sad.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ground as they walked into the elevator. It was a bit crowded, with John pressed awkwardly up against Martha and Rose squished against the back. Jack was pressing himself to the corner, yet none of them, except for John, seemed to mind. It seemed to take forever for the elevator to reach its destination, and the whole way down, everyone was silent.

He was relieved when it finally reached the bottom and they all filed out into a slightly larger room. However, the relief quickly diminished. There was something off, and all four of them knew it. John glanced at the three spies, frowning. They were all scanning the room. Martha looked a little worried and scared; he guessed that she wasn't someone who went out on missions much. She wasn't used to this. Jack and Rose had taken out their guns and were both creeping forward, frowns on their face. John followed, curiosity pricking at his skin as they climbed up the steps. What they met at the top made all four of them freeze, and John nearly stumbled backwards and down the stairs.

"_Oh my God_," he choked out, staring in horror at the dead and bloody body.


	3. Prologue (Part 3)

**A/N: First of all, thank you to everyone who has followed/reviewed/favorited! :) **

**Second of all, I'd like to point at that I am in fact a 13 year old. My point; I'm not a medical genius, nor am I a master of pick-locking or anything of the sort. If there are any mistakes having to do with those things, then I apologize!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any of the character. They only characters I own (so far) is Alec and Eric.**

* * *

Immediately, Jack lowered the gun to his side and sprinted forward towards the body, dropping onto his knees and pressing two fingers to the bodies neck. He didn't seem to care that the puddle of blood was soaking his clothing and skin. Rose kept her gun pointed around the room, her eyes narrowed. Martha was stood frozen to the stop, horrified. Slowly, John crept to the side, peering at the body with an uneven mixture of sadness and curiosity.

His chest ached as he looked it over. The skin had blotched up and become tinted blue. It was lying in a puddle of blood. The clothing - a suit - was in perfect condition, which seemed to make it worse. The body was male, judging by his facial features. The man's hair, while coated in dried blood, was once a rich brown color. John couldn't see his eyes, but he didn't really want to; he knew he would only be met with a cold, dead gaze, and the thought made his stomach flip.

"Who is it?" Martha finally whispered, her eyes trained on the body. Jack shook his head slowly.

"I don't know," he replied, standing up. Disgust was plastered across his face. Rose lowered her gun and walked forward, placing the gun on a desk. Jack kept his in his belt. Martha was backing down the stairs, staring at them with a frown on her face. John kept to the side, his heart pounding in his chest. The air felt tense and heat from fear and horror was creeping down his neck and over his chest. "Whoever he is," Jack mumbled, pursing his lips, "he's been dead for a while. Someone dumped him here on purpose. I'm not even sure this is his blood."

Rose grumbled something under her breath and walked to the side of the body, pulling her dress up and kicking off her shoes so she wouldn't drown them in the blood. John watched her approach the body, looking it over with a puzzled look on her face. "How long?" She asked, brushing a blond lock back and tucking it behind her ear.

Jack shook his head. "Don't know."

"I'd say about six hours," John blurted out without thinking and immediately cursed himself silently afterward. John and Rose looked up at him, clearly shocked. Jack's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but it was Rose who voiced the question in their heads.

"And how would you know that?"

John swallowed, taking a cautious step forward, his eyes trained on the body. "Well, to start-" his voice cracked and he winced, "- the body is rigid. Using the Rigor Mortis method..." he paused, taking a deep breath. "After death, the muscles in the body will usually relax. However, after about three hours, it will tense up again. Glycogen... it's converted into lactic acid, but that process isn't done yet," he explained, awkwardly motioning to the condition of the body. "That means that it hasn't been around twelve hours yet. Of course, the Rigor Mortis method isn't all that reliable, but there are other ways, too." He couldn't help but be surprised by his sudden burst of confidence around Jack and Rose, although he knew it wouldn't last. He stepped closer to the body, tilting his head. Wrinkling his nose, he pressed two fingers to the bodies blueish skin of the arm, and when he drew back, he pointed at the patch of skin. "There!" Rose turned to look, an interested look on her face.

"His skin," he explained. "It became white after I pressed it. The settling of blood - Liver Mortis. After around... oh... I'd say ten to twelve hours? The blotches on the skin will have joined up, as they have now, but the skin won't turn white after pressing it. There are a bunch of other clues, but because his skin turned white, it indicates that it's been about five to six hours. I'm just guessing six."

"Wow," Rose breathed, impressed. "You're quite the doctor. Where'd ya' learn all that?"

John shrugged. "My dad was a Coroner. I picked a lot up from him..."

"Looks like you've got competition, Martha," Jack laughed, and they all turned to look at her, Jack and Rose both smiling. Except, she wasn't paying attention. She didn't even seem to have heard them. A look of disgust, horror, and anger was displayed on her face.

"You might want to come see this," she whispered, a hand pressed to her mouth. Slowly, shakily, John stood up, but he didn't move to look. Jack and Rose exchanged glances and walked to where she was, walking lightly down the steps while making sure not to touch them. They turned to look at where Martha was staring and anger flared up on Jack's face. No one said a word. Curiosity got the better of John and he walked towards them, stepping lightly down the stairs as they had done. He turned to look, a frown on his face, until he realized what was off.

Letters were painted in fresh blood on the risers of the steps. The top step had a sloppy 'M' slapped on, and on the others, an 'I, T, C H'.

"Mitch," John said, staring blankly at the stairs. Rose looked just as angry as Jack, her lips curled up in disgust. "Who is that?"

"Alec's boss," Jack spat, and John jumped at the hatred in his voice. For a moment, John thought it was directed at him and he recoiled, taking a step back, but Jack didn't even spare him another glance as he stalked up the stairs and crossed the room, entering a different room and slamming the glass door shut behind him. Martha flinched, sighing.

The angry look had disappeared from Rose's face, replaced by sadness. Her eyes flickered to John, and upon seeing the confused look on his face, she began to explain.

"Mitch. Mitchell. Adam Mitchell. Adam used to work for us... a long time ago. He was Jack's partner. The two of 'em were best friends - and I mean, it was like they were joined at the hip. But... I dunno. Adam got mad one day, stormed out, rantin' 'bout somethin' Jack had done. Didn't see him for a few weeks, and there weren't any signs as to where Adam had gone." She walked back up the stairs, edging around the body and then sinking down in a chair. She folded her arms and turned to look at him again.

"We were on a mission," she continued, "and we saw him, at a party. Jack got upset and went to talk to him. Adam attacked him, in front of all the guests - blew our cover, and we blew his. He's been trying to kill us ever since then, without any explanation."

John stared at her, not sure what else to say. It seemed that Rose wasn't quite as attached to Adam as Jack had been, yet she sat with a far off look on her face, the tip on her pinky finger in her mouth as she bit lightly on the fingernail. "I don't know why Jack liked him anyway," Rose said, and the Doctor jumped at the sudden noise. "He was always a bit of a self-absorbed prick."

John began to say something, but suddenly, her phone rang. She let out an exhausted sigh and reached forward, pulling a phone out form under a computer monitor. He felt a bit of sympathy for her rise in his chest, but he quickly shook it off. He didn't really want to feel sympathy for her, not after everything he knew about her. Not wanting to eavesdrop, he took the time to examine the room properly.

It was almost a little odd. At the bottom of the stairs, everything was painted a deep blue, except for the stairs, which were white. At the top of the stairs, however, that's where everything became a bit odd. The walls were painted orange, with small, brown and green designs on them that were circles near the ceiling, but as they descended, they became hexagons. The flooring was just grating, and he could see that underneath it was wires and a few large storage chests. The lights bathed the room with a greenish-blue glow. On his side, there was one small desk, which had a large, flat screen television on it, but besides the desk, there was simply a railing that ran the length of the room. On the opposite side, near Rose, there was another desk that stretched along the entire wall. There was one computer at each end of the long desk, and inbetween was just an area scattered with files and papers.

Pursing his lips, he strolled forward, stuffing one hand in his pocket and looking down at the files. He glanced towards Rose, but she was too occupied with whoever was on the other line to notice him being nosy. Careful not to make a sound, he gently moved a piece of paper from the desk, which displayed a file underneath. He lifted the cover, tilting his head to look inside.

Photographs of people were taped to the cover, along with Rose and Jack and Martha. Each photo looked professional, each of people in them staring at the camera with blank expressions on their faces. Three of the photos had been sloppily crossed out with red marker. He frowned, opening it all the way. He carefully lifted the picture of Rose and flipped the photo over. On the other side was information.

_Codename: Bad Wolf_

_Age: 20_

_Status: Single_

_Position: Field Worker_

He cocked his head, moving to Martha's picture and lifted it as well.

_Codename:_

_Age: 24_

_Status: Unknown_

_Position: Medical Worker_

John frowned, confused. Why didn't Martha have a 'codename'? And why was her status unknown? Shaking his head, he moved to Jack's and flipped it over completely.

_Codename: Jack Harkness_

_Age: 27_

_Status: Unknown_

_Position: Field Worker_

"You know, you're not meant to be looking at those."

John yelped rather loudly, fumbling with the file. It fell to the floor and he dropped down, scooping it up. As he tried to straighten up, he whacked his head against the desk. Cursing softly, he stumbled, rubbing the top of his head. He glanced behind him to see Rose staring at him, an eyebrow arched. She was, however, grinning at his clumsiness. He blushed softly, placing the file on the table.

"I'm sorry," he squeaked, pulling at his earlobe. Rose smiled and shook her head.

"It's fine. S'nothing too personal in there." She reached for the file and tucked it under her arm, then ran a hand through her hair, sighing.

John shuffled his feet, pursing his lips. "My friend," he finally said. Rose frowned, cocking her head. "Is he… okay?"

"The blonde boy?" She asked, tucking a lock of gold behind her ear. John nodded. "Yeah. He's fine. He left when we cleared the area."

John breathed a sigh of relief, and then collapsed in a nearby chair, rubbing his forehead. Rose looked him over, sympathy glowing in her eyes. "This is a mess," John finally whispered, staring blankly across the room. Rose winced softly, and he frowned. "What?"

"It's… about to get messier."

John stiffened, but kept his mouth shut, unwilling to say anything. Instead, he waited for her to continue. He glanced hopefully around for Martha, but she had left the room – along with the dead body, he realized. How had he missed that? He turned back to Rose, raising an eyebrow.

"We… we know where Alec is now, and we know Alec has the key. What we don't know is why he chose you to hold it for him…"

John let out a frustrated yell, jumping to his feet. "I told you!" He argued, shaking his head. His voice was much louder than he had previously intended, but he didn't lower it. "I've got nothing to do with Alec, or Mitchell! He chose me at random! I was there, and he was there, and he just told me to hold it."

Rose winced at his outburst, drawing away from him, and John rolled back on his heels in surprise. Was she… scared of him? He studied her in confusion, his brow furrowed. She was staring at the ground, holding her breath. Why on Earth was she scared of _him_? He wasn't anything to be scared of. He was tall, sure, but he was lanky, and lacked a lot of muscle. She'd seen how clumsy he could be. For her to be scared of him… it didn't make any sense. But yet, there she was in front of him, her face pale, and her muscles tense. He glanced around, before taking an uncertain step towards her.

"Hey… I'm sorry… I, uh…" he trailed off, biting down on his lip. To his further surprise, Rose swirled around on her heels, her muscles tense. She stalked from the room without saying a word, and he watched her go, utterly lost. Jack popped his head out of his door, frowning.

"What happened?"

John glanced at him and shrugged helplessly. "I yelled," he said softly, and Jack frowned even harder.

"Loudly?"

John glared at him, all fear of the man forgotten for the moment. "That's usually what yelling entails, yes." He snapped. Jack gave him an odd look, glancing towards the door that Rose had used to leave. A look of worry crossed his face. He clearly knew why Rose had reacted the way she had, but he didn't look like he was about to explain. Shaking his head, he came towards John, and John stiffened.

"Here you go, Eric," the man said, holding something out to him. John glanced at the item in his hand and immediately felt his stomach tighten. A small, black gun was fitted into his hand. John took a step back, swallowing.

"I can't use that," he croaked, and then frowned. "Why would I even need to?" He felt panic beginning to build in his chest again, and he tried to force it away.

Jack shook his head and stepped forward, shoving it into his hand. John fumbled with it for a few moments, nearly dropping it, but he managed to keep it in his hands. Jack chuckled and patted his shoulder. "If we're lucky," he began, "you won't have to, because _you_ will be staying in the van." He didn't straight out answer John's question, and he really didn't have to, because John had already guessed what was happening.

* * *

"Damn," John breathed, staring out the window of their vehicle at the large building outside. They had parked across the road from a building that might as well be the White House. Huge pillars lined a white, elegant porch, and the building was taller than any other he'd ever seen. The windows (of which there were probably around thirty on the side of the building they were facing) all glowed a yellow-orange color. The sky had brightened a little since when John had gotten off of the lorry. It was probably around six a.m. They had driven nearly an hour to get to this building. John couldn't help but find it a little odd that a building this beautiful should be in the middle of no where.

He shook his head and sat back against his seat, his hand tugging at the seat belt. The gun was pressed against his side in his belt and digging into his skin, and while he tried to ignore the pain, it was a bit difficult. Jack had shown him how to use it, but he hadn't actually let John fire it - not that he had wanted to. The gun was switched onto safety, thankfully, so there was hardly a chance that he could accidentally fire the weapon.

"Eric," Rose said suddenly, and he glanced towards her, blinking. She hadn't spoken to him since when he'd yelled at her. She hadn't even looked at him. He didn't say anything, just waited for her to continue. "Like Jack probably said, you're staying here. However..." she paused and undid her seat belt, leaning forward. She pulled a flap down from the roof of the van, presenting a small, rectangular screen. "We want to know that you're here at all times. So, you get to watch." She leaned down into her back, and pulled out a black headset.

"You also get to talk to us." She handed him the headset and uncertainly, he pulled it over his head. The sides had clips on them to attach it to his ears. The microphone extended from the right to his mouth. He glanced at her to see Rose staring at him, an odd looks in her eyes. When their eyes met, she looked away, clearing her throat. "We have to make sure you're going to stay put."

Before he could react, she had pulled out a pair of handcuffs and had cuffed him to a pole at the side of his chair. He let out a groan and slide down in his seat, sighing. Rose smiled softly and shook her head. "We'll uncuff you when we get back," she said, smoothing down her dress. She had changed into a different dress. It was white, and it went down to her ankles. It was strapless again and the back had a triangle that showed her skin. John was simply glad that it was no longer split to her thigh. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a bun, with a few strands hanging out on one side.

It took several more minutes for her to explain how the cameras worked. Both her and Jack were wearing contacts that were cameras. The monitor displayed four views; Rose's cameras, Jack's camera, and two other cameras that would showed him the outside of the van. To select a view, he simply had to tap the square and it would bring it up. He nodded when she was done, and Rose pulled out a contacts box and put them in. The top right camera view flickered to life and he glanced at it, nodding.

"Alright," she said. "That's all. Stay put, we'll be back soon." With that, she pulled the door open and glanced at him once more before closing it and leaving him alone. He sighed and glanced at the monitor, rubbing his cuffed wrist with his free hand. Soon after, Jack's view flickered to life. John reached up and turned on his headset, listening quietly as Rose and Jack spoke.

They were talking about what they planned to do once they found Alec. He tapped on Rose's view and sat back, watching with pursed lips and they hopped up the stairs, and then knocked on the large white doors. It opened soon after.

"Hi!" Rose and Jack said together. The man at the door, dressed as a waiter, grunted and opened the door wider, nodding for them to go in. Rose and Jack sauntered inside, muttering together about their plans once more. The two of them spent probably ten minutes milling around and talking casually with the guests. John rubbed at his temple, shaking his head, bored.

Suddenly, a familiar voice jerked him from his thoughts. His eyes swiveled back to the monitor, and his stomach dropped at the blonde man on Rose's view.

"Hey," Eric said, looking straight at the camera. John sat up straighter, biting on his lip. He had to hold back from saying something. "I... uhm, you were at the party yesterday... weren't you?"

"Yes," Rose said slowly, uncertainly. Her voice crackled loudly and he winced, pressing his finger to his ear. He distantly heard Jack mutter an apology about setting the volume too high on the headset.

"Did you happen to see a waiter? Brunette, spiky hair... bit of an idiot. His name is John...?"

John dropped his head into his free hand, cursing under his breath. Neither Rose nor Jack said anything for a few moments, but he could hear Jack take a sharp, annoyed breath. "John what?" He asked, his voice low.

"Smith..."

"No," Jack said quickly. "Sorry."

John watched Rose's monitor as Jack suddenly grabbed her wrist and began dragging her away from Eric. Rose glanced behind her, towards Eric, who watched them with sad eyes.

"Well, _John Smith_," Jack hissed crossly, and John sighed. A loud sound came from the other end of the line, and it took him a few moments to realize that it was laughing. Rose was laughing. He watched as Rose glanced up at Jack. He was staring at her in confusion.

"Sorry," Rose giggled. "You just... you actually managed to lie to us and get away with it. I... that doesn't happen very often."

"You didn't even question it when I said Eric Day," John reminded her, frowning. Rose giggled again.

"I know. You didn't seem like someone who could actually lie without breaking."

"Thanks," John snorted, and this time, Jack chuckled.

"We'll deal with that later," the man said and through Rose's view, John watched Jack give him a joking glare. "Right now, we've got to focus on finding Alec."

John smiled and leaned back again, watching the monitor. Eventually, they made their way upstairs and began searching rooms for Alec, which quickly lead to John's boredom. He leaned back in his seat and sighed, twisting his wrist uncomfortably. Eventually, he leaned forward and began sifting through a pocket in the seat in front of him. He pulled out a book – "The Science of Love" – boring, and tossed it behind him. Something clattered in the ground in the back of the van, but he ignored it, continuing to look through the pouch. His pulled out several other items – a comb, a guitar pick, and other small objects that proved unable to hold his attention for more than a second or two. He dropped them all on the ground, kicking the comb under his seat.

Another clatter sounded in the back and he paused, confused. Had the book caused something else to fall? He glanced behind, but besides the book and the fan (which had been the first thing to fall) there was nothing there. He shrugged it off, assuming it was just something he couldn't see. However, another clang – this one sounded more like a bang – caused him to start to worry. He managed to stand up, although rather awkwardly, and he shuffled to the side, wincing as his wrist twisted behind his back. He cursed quietly under his breath, and then yelled in annoyance as his foot hit something hard on the floor. He cursed again, louder this time, and bent down to rub at his foot with his free hand.

"What are you doing?" Jack grunted, and John sighed. He shifted to look at the monitor, but stayed where he was.

"There was a noise, outside of the van," he explained, glancing behind him. He tried to peer out the side of the window, but it was blackened now. Rose must have done something.

"Look at the monitor," he said, almost impatiently. John sighed and fell backwards over the seat. His arm was stretched a little, but he tried to ignore it. He tapped the monitor and looked over the views. However, there didn't appear to be anything outside of the van. John shook his head, sighing again and ruffling his hair. Another bang – much louder this time, near the window – made him freeze again, and he sat up, glancing at the back. He began to speak, but never got the chance.

A loud, horrible sound of shattering glass and bullets pierced the air as the window exploded. Glass flew across the van, and something sharp hit John in the chest. He gasped at the sharp pain and fell over the seat from the surprise. A sickening snap filled the air and more pain flooded his entire arm, starting from his wrist and spiraling down. A scream ripped from his throat, and he jerked backwards, trying to reposition his wrist in a way that didn't cause the agonizing pain.

"John?" Rose gasped, and he choked back a sob, gritting his teeth. "John, what happened?"

"My wrist!" He screeched, purposely smacking his head against the side of the door, attempting to distract himself from the pain in his wrist. "I - I, the window, it shattered, I'm… there's glass in my chest, I..." he let out a shaky breath, his eyes watering. He hung his head, his fingers digging into his leg since there didn't seem to be anything else to hold on to.

Rose hissed something to Jack, and then suddenly, he could hear her footsteps pounding against stone flooring as she bolted down the hallway. "What happened to your wrist? Are you okay?"

"Broken!" He gasped out, and he didn't even have to look to know it was true. He cool feel his wrist twisted at an odd angle. He'd broken bones before, but for some reason, none of them compared to how this felt. "The window – I – it was shot, I think, I – " he trailed off, tilting his head back and groaning. He lifted his free hand to his chest, finding the piece of glass in his chest without looking. He took a deep breath, and then let it out again quickly as pain rattled his body. His fingers hovered over the glass and his bit is lip, a little too hard. The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth.

"You need to get the glass out," Rose said suddenly, and he nodded, despite the fact that she couldn't see him.

"Like ripping off a band-aid," he breathed, gripping at the glass. "The quicker you pull, the faster it's over with."

A muffled sound of surprise sounded from the other end. In one quick movement, he tugged out at the glass, and he felt blood dribble down his chest from the wound. His hand shook as he tossed it at the door, whimpering. It hadn't hurt as much as he had been expecting, but it left a throbbing in his chest. There was a few moments of silence from Rose, and then suddenly, she spoke again.

"Someone was shooting at you," she said, and John groaned again, fear sparking through him. "You need to get out. Pick the lock on the cuffs."

"_Rose!_" He gasped, exasperated. "I _can't_! I'm not a spy! I wasn't-" he broke off for a moment, fighting down bile rising in his throat. He gritted his teeth, his uninjured hand clenching into a fist. "I _can not_ pick the lock!"

"I know," Rose mumbled, her breathing heavily. Judging by her footsteps, she must have been running upstairs. He couldn't be bothered to look at the monitor. "But listen, John. If someone was shooting at you, they must think you're an agent. Which means that they aren't going to be merciful. If they see you, they will shoot you. Are you listening?"

He was listening, as a matter of fact, but it was getting hard to hear her. His ears were ringing, and someone was still shooting at the van. Each bang made him jump.

"I don't know how to pick it," he grunted, shifting uncomfortably.

"I'll teach you," Rose snapped, and he winced. "Find a bobby pin. I think I dropped one on my way out." He glanced over, and sure enough a white bobby pin was on the floor. He clenched his jaw as he reached for the pin. "Straighten it out." Her voice sounded impatient. He did as told, pressing it against the floor. His hand shook as he did so. "Kink it -" her voice hitched "- at the end - into an 'S'."

He bit down on the tip and then examined it. "Okay," he said, his voice shaking.

"Alright, insert it in the lock."

He reached up, gritting his teeth, slipping the pin into the lock. "Press it up and add tension." He took a deep breath, and pushed it up. Pain flashed through his arm, and a growling sound escaped his lips from his through. His chest heaved as he fought for breath. Finally, the latch popped open, and he slipped down. Instantly, he lowered his hand to his stomach and leaned over, a sob escaping past his lips.

"It is unlocked?" Rose asked quickly.

"Yes," he choked out, swallowing again.

"Then run," she growled, and he froze, shaking his head.

"I can't."

"John, _run_. Now!"

Taking a deep breath, he shakily rose to his feet, tucking his wrist against his stomach. He reached for the door, and tugged it open. Almost immediately, a bullet whizzed past his head, and he fell forward, just managing to keep on his feet. As quick as he could, he darted towards the building, ignoring the pain burning through his body. In his head, he prayed to God that whoever was shooting at him wasn't good with head shots.

* * *

**A/N: (P.S: Reviews make me write faster!)**


	4. Prologue (Part 4)

Something grazed his cheek soon after an ear piercing _bang _filled the air. John gasped and ducked, wincing as his wrist was forced against his stomach. He hadn't actually been hit yet. That was a plus. Still, whoever was shooting at him clearly had no intentions of letting him get away. John ducked and dodged bullets, and the quick movements were causing his wrist to hurt more than before. He stumbled as he approached the stairs, and then yelped as a bullet struck the white wood. He jumped back, and then started forward again, scampering clumsily up the stairs.

He still had the gun on him, but it wouldn't be much use right now. He had no idea where the man was shooting from, and perhaps there was more than one shooter. He stumbled up to the door, not bothering to knock as he flung the door open and stepped inside, slamming it shut behind him. He tensed, expecting bullets to hit the door, but none came. He breathed a sigh of relief, hanging his head and rubbing at the back of his neck, working on calming his breathing down. His eyes roamed over the room, eyes narrowed.

The room was alight in an orange and green glow with Christmas styled lights strung along the walls. To his right was a bar where several people sat, chatting quietly to each other. It was an odd sort of party. Something about it was different than the parties that John was used to, but he couldn't quite place what made it feel so different.

He took at the time to glance at his wrist, instantly wishing he hadn't. The skin had puffed up and become a deep purple mixed with reds and blue. It was twisted at a horribly unnatural angle. He jerked his head up, feeling a little sick to the stomach. He took a step forward, scanning the room for any familiar faces. He thought he might see Rose or Jack among the crowd of people, but as far as he could tell, they weren't in the room. He reached up to the headset and pressed the side, hoping to hear Rose's voice, but the other end was only static. Had something happened?

He sighed and started towards the crowds of people, but suddenly, a hand rested on his shoulder. Not able to think of anything else to do, John swirled around on his heels and punched the person in the jaw. He drew back in surprise as he realized who it was. He couldn't help but smile in relief at seeing the blonde haired idiot.

"Aw, what was that for?" Eric gasped, rubbing where John had hit him. John ducked his head sheepishly, grumbling he was sorry. Eric shook his head, smiled, and stepped closer to him as if he was about to hug him, but he stopped short, his eyes roaming over him. John could imagine that he probably looked like a mess. His white shirt had a blood stain on it from where the glass had been and considering how dressy the shirt was, it probably didn't match well with his jeans. His hair was sticking up everywhere and there was a cut across his right cheek from where the bullet had just barely grazed him. He was clutching his wrist to his stomach, but the fact that it was broken was hardly hidden from Eric's view.

"Uh... wow. Are you okay?"

John's smile fell. "I'm fine."

"John... you looked like you were taken into an alley and run over a couple times."

"Something like that," he snorted. He shook his head, biting his lip. "Honestly, I'm fine. I was just... have you seen the blonde girl you were talking to earlier?"

Eric frowned, drawing back. "You just walked in, how did you know I was talking to her?"

John froze and winced, trying to come up with a quick lie. "I... I was in earlier, but I left to get something."

"And got your wrist broken in the process?"

"Uh... yes?" He tried, frowning. Eric flashed him an odd look.

"Seriously, what happened?"

"Nothing," John sighed. For a moment, he thought Eric might get mad. He had always had a short temper. However, the blonde shook his head and smiled, although it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"She went upstairs," Eric finally said, shuffling his feet and stuffing his hands into his pockets. John nodded his thanks, glancing towards the stairs. He would have to push through a crowd of people to get there.

"I'll talk you to later, okay? I promise," he sniffed, turning back to Eric. Eric nodded uncertainly, and John flashed him a weak smile before turning and moving towards the edge of the room. His fingers brushed against the puffy skin of his wrist, staring absently ahead of him as he wound his way through the crowd. There was still something about the area that just didn't seem quite right. The air was stuffy and for a party, it was surprisingly quiet. There was no blasting loud music or drunk karaoke. The only sound was a few clinking of glasses and low whispers.

He shook it off as he approached the stairs. Getting mixed in with Rose and Jack had caused him to become wary of just about everything, even when he needn't be. He walked slowly up the cream colored stairs, reluctant to move quickly in fear that he would hurt his wrist. When he reached the top of the stairs after what seemed to take far longer than it should have, he stopped, looking around. All of the lights were turned off, and it seemed even more quiet than it was downstairs. There was a single window against the far wall and there was a strange blue glow that lit up a small section of the back. It was almost like moonlight, but he knew it couldn't be that, as the sun had just been rising when they had arrived.

He took a small step forward, peering curiously around the room. It was medium sized and fairly empty, with two couches pushed up against the wall with the window. On either side of the room were two doors. He assumed they led to the rooms. He sighed, feeling a sense of familiarity with all of this. Once again, he was at a party, searching for Rose, and once again, he was going to leave injured.

He moved to the left side of the room, gently letting go of his wrist and pulling the door open. He shuddered at the darkness presented to him. The whole hallway in front of him was pitch black. There was hardly enough light to show him where to walk. He took a nervous step in, feeling along the wall for a light switch. Nothing came up under his fingers.

John didn't like this. He felt uncomfortable and vulnerable. It was almost like someone was watching him. His heart was beginning to thump quickly and loudly in his chest, and it seemed to be the only think he could hear in the unsettling silence. His skin tingled as he forced himself to edge down the hallway. Goosebumps formed on his arm.

"Rose?" He called out uncertainly. He stuck his hand out in front of him, swallowing. Something wasn't right. Why did he feel as though he was being watched? His eyes darted around, searching for any signs of movement. His eyes swiveled to look behind him, almost expecting someone to be standing in the doorway. However, it was empty, and he was alone.

He shook his head. He was paranoid; that was it. He was completely, 100% alone. There was no one watching him. He continued down the hallway, eventually completely losing his light source. He rounded a corner, and then froze. A door was ajar and yellow light was leaking from it and into the hallway. He stopped and listened, holding his breath. He could hear harsh whispers coming from the room. One was deep rough, clearly angry and clearly a mans voice. The other spoke with just as much anger, except it was higher pitched, and he recognized it; Rose.

He wanted to turn back and find Jack. He could feel fear building in his chest, and it would have been so much easier to have just turned and ran. However, the thought left him sick. If Rose was in trouble, he couldn't leave her. Taking a deep breath, John started forward. He quickly moved to the other side of the light so that he would be able to peer into the room.

What he saw inside made his stomach flip. There were three men and Rose in the room. Two of the men were dressed in suits, and the other, a hoodie and jeans. The man in the hoodie was pacing back and forth, his arms tucked behind his back. The two suited men had guns. Rose was strapped to a chair, and the guns were pointed at her head.

Her face was battered with cuts and bruises and blood dribbled down her chin. Her chest was heaving as she fought for breath. She'd clearly been hit several times.

"I don't understand _why_ you feel the need to follow me, Rose," the hooded man laughed. It wasn't quite a laugh of amusement, but rather, someone who had lost their mind. It sent shivers down John's back.

"Adam..." Rose hissed, and John blinked in surprise. That was Alec's boss? Jack's old partner? He shifted slightly on his feet, trying to get a better look at his face, but he kept his back turned away from John.

Adam chuckled again. "Honestly, I'm curious. I left, and you know why. I do hope that you haven't told Jack! Oh, how it would break his poor, fragile heart."

John frowned. Hadn't Rose said that none of them had known why Adam had left? Why would she lie about that? He forced the thought away. That was hardly what mattered right now. Adam had stopped pacing and was staring at Rose, who hadn't replied. "I'm going to take that as a nooo...?"

Still, Rose kept her lips pressed tightly together. Adam shook his head, snorting. "Alright. Who was that man? The one in the van. I had one of my sharp shooters on him - idiot couldn't seem to get a headshot. New agent?"

Rose fixed him with a hard stare. "He's no one, Adam. He should hardly matter to you."

"But is he a new agent?"

"No."

"Oh, good. You won't mind if we kill him then."

Rose stiffened, her jaw clenching. She was quiet for a few moments. "You don't have him."

Adam snorted. "Yes, we do. Didn't even try to run."

John arched an eyebrow, rolling his eyes. Rose would know better than to believe him, wouldn't she? Except, but the look on her face, she did. She suddenly looked much more tired, her eyes flooded with something that looked like despair and her shoulders hunched. She lowered her gaze to the ground, frowning. John felt an ache in his chest. She looked as if she had completely given up. "Right," Adam sighed. "I don't have time for this, anyway. I've got things to do, you know? Danny -" Adam motioned to one of the men - "come with me. Charlie... get rid of her, somehow. I don't want to see her again. Ever. Shoot her in the head, throw her out the window, leave her alone somewhere in America - Alaska, Arizona, Alabama -" he turned around towards the door, smirking. "Someplace beginning with A."

John swallowed and back up a little as Adam approached the door, shoving it open. Light flooded the hallway, but John made sure to stay back in the shadows. Adam nor Danny even saw him as they left the room, walking down the way John had came. Watching them leave, John quickly scuttled back towards the door, which had been partly shut once more. The man - Charlie - was grinning, his gun pointed at Rose's head.

Her eyes were wide and she was clearly terrified. Charlie cocked his head, pursing his lips. "I like it better when they fight," he said suddenly, moving forward. Rose tensed, watching warily as Charlie began to untie the bonds that held Rose down by her wrists. As soon as she was free, she jumped up, swallowing and stumbling away from the man. The fear in her eyes made John's heart drop. A wave of unexpected protectiveness surged through him, like he absolutely had to save Rose. His chest burned from it, and he began moving restlessly, unsure of what to do to help.

Charlie simply chuckled at her fear, his finger moving to the trigger. It was then that John remembered the gun pressing against his side. He reached down, snatching it out, ignoring it when he tore a little at his skin. He unlocked the safety switch, swallowing hard. His heart pounded in his ears, and he was a bit surprise that Charlie couldn't hear it.

Before he could change his mind, he leapt to his feet, hardly registering the pain that shot up his arm from his wrist. He kicked back the door with his foot and both the man and Rose gasped at his sudden entrance. The man swirled around, eyes narrowed, immediately raising his gun and pointing it at John's chest. Blood on fire, John raised the gun, praying he wouldn't miss, and pulled down the trigger, gasping as vibrations wound up his arm.

As soon as the bullet was fired, the room fell silent. There was no final gasp of the man, no yell. Even when the man fell to the ground, blood leaking from a bullet hole in his forehead, the room remained silent. It was terrible.

John stood still, his hand still gripping the gun tightly. His hand was starting to ache from holding it so tightly. He swallowed and slowly, he brought it back down to his side. His chest was heaving and he stood up straighter, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Shivers crept down his spine. He looked down at the ground, closing his eyes. He could no longer feel the aching in his broken wrist, thankfully. He had forced the pain into the back of his head. His chest felt utterly empty, but completely flooded with guilt and disgust for his actions at the some time.

And then, suddenly, Rose was by his side. He let her peel the gun out of his grip and she tossed it lightly onto the bed. Her hand quickly replaced the weapon, threading their fingers together. It was more comforting than it should have been, probably. He shook slightly, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together tightly.

"Hey," Rose whispered softly, rubbing his arm to try and comfort him. He glanced at her, trying – and failing – to keep his face expressionless. "You're okay," was all she said, leaning against him lightly. He shook his head and turned to face her. Only a day ago, he'd been scared of her because she'd shot a man. Now, he was just as bad as her. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling lost. He wasn't quite expecting her to stay still for him. He was expecting her to pull back.

She didn't pull away, however. She let him hug her, lightly resting her cheek against his chest. His heart had stuttered into a slow, occasional beat. He hid his face in the crook of her neck. He wanted to cry, but for some reason, he couldn't, even as he tried to force the tears to come. After what seemed like forever, he finally stepped back, taking a deep breath. He ran his uninjured hand through his hair, closing his eyes.

Finally, he spoke, "Let's go."

* * *

They found Jack down on the main floor, a glass of alcohol in his hands and chatting up a woman. Rose and John walked up to him slowly, exchanging annoyed glances.

"Jack," Rose grumbled, glaring at him. The man's head jerked up in surprise and the woman in front of him fixed Rose with a cold stare. Jack blinked in confusion, as if he didn't recognize them, but suddenly, a wide grin spread across his lips and he stumbled off of his chair, wobbling a little. John moved forward to steady him, but Rose shook his head. "We need to go," Rose said flatly, her eyes narrowed.

John glanced at her, frowning. How could they leave if they hadn't even collected what they had came for in the first place? Rose didn't look at him. She stared straight at Jack, who simply smiled. Eventually, he turned back to the woman, leaning lazily against the counter. "M'lady, you will have to excuse me," he muttered, standing up straight. He turned back to John and Rose and stumbled forward, bumping into John's right hand in the process. Breath hissed between John's teeth at the pang of pain and he stepped away from the drunken agent, moving his hand to hover over his other wrist, protecting it. Jack glanced down in a bit of confusion, shrugged, and then staggered forward, towards the exit.

Rose sighed, shaking her had as she followed. John hurried to match her pace. "How can we leave?" He hissed under his breath.

She glanced at him, frowning. "Why can't we?"

"We haven't gotten the key."

"Sometimes missions fail, John. There's nothing we can do about it, we just leave and try again."

"But Alec might still be here!"

"He's not," Rose promised, dragging her fingers through her hair. John sighed, pursed his lips, and kept them closed.

* * *

An hour later, most of which had been filled with an ache in John's wrist and Jack's constant blubbering about how spectacular women and men were, they finally made it back to the spies base. Martha had gasped when she'd seen all three of their conditions. She began fixing them up, starting with John.

She had taken him to a sort of med bay. The room was rather small, and it was ridiculously clean. Everything seemed to be white or light gray. To the right of the room was a bunch of cabinets and a counter that was scattered with different kinds of pill bottles. A stretcher was pushed up against the left of the room, which was what he currently sat on. He listened and explained sleepily as she asked about what had happened and fixed him up. She put his wrist in a thin, yet hard cast and cleaned up the graze from the bullet and wiped away the blood.

"That'll be okay," she mumbled to herself. "No bandages for that." Louder, she asked, "could you lie down for me? I've got to check out that glass cut." John nodded, peeling off his blood stained shirt for her. Under normal circumstances, he would probably be embarrassed, but he hardly cared right now. He was too sleepy to care. She pushed him lightly and he laid down, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Don't fall asleep," Martha chuckled.

"Mmm..." was all he said, forcing his eyes open again. Martha poured some disinfectant onto a cloth and gently cleaned the wound. It stung, but after today, it didn't feel like anything farther than a pinch.

"So, did you guys find the key?"

John shook his head, a sighing passing his lips. "No. I'm not sure they even found Alec."

"We," Martha corrected, and John frowned.

"What?"

"We. Spy or not, you got involved in the mission. That makes it 'we' not 'they'."

John shrugged, glancing away. He could feel Martha's curious gaze on him, but she said nothing as she continued to fix up the cut. She eventually put a few bandages over it. "If it get's infected, make sure to tell a doctor, okay?"

He nodded and sat up, prodding the reddened skin. Shaking his head, he looked back at Martha. "Do you have a spare t-shirt?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so." She walked towards one of the cabinets and eventually tugged down a light gray shirt, throwing it to him. He caught it and slipped it on, ruffling his hair a bit. He glanced up to find Martha staring with a frown on her face.

"What?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. You seem much more comfortable than earlier."

He smiled. "You're an easy person to be comfortable around."

Martha laughed, "Should I take that as a compliment?"

John frowned, arching an eyebrow. "Uhm... yes, I think so."

She giggled and shook her head. "Well, anyway. You'll be free to go home soon, I imagine."

Much to John's surprise, his heart sunk. He bit down on his lip, glancing down at his lap and fiddling with his fingers. He glanced up as he felt Martha's gaze burning into him again. She looked surprised. "What?" She asked.

He shrugged, raking a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I guess..." he ducked his head. "I guess I don't really want to."

Both Martha and him jumped as Rose hopped into the room, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. She glanced at the two of them, smiling. "Don't want to what?" John winced, blushing a little. Martha smirked.

"He doesn't want to -"

"Martha!" John interrupted, staring at her with wide eyes. She laughed, shrugging. Rose smiled wider, taking another step into the room, closer to John.

"What don't you want to do?" She prodded, jumping up to sit on the stretcher next to him. He stared at her, nibbling on his lower lip. She arched an eyebrow, bumping her shoulder with his. He stared at her, a little confused. Why was she being so friendly with him? Her mood had changed rather drastically since when they had first met. Maybe it had something to do with saving her life, he guessed.

Finally, he sighed in submission. "I don't know - I guess I don't want to go back to life. I don't want to go back to doing the same thing everyday." He shrugged his shoulders, rubbing at his eye. He tried desperately to avoid doing anything that would let Rose or Martha know how embarrassed he was. "I mean, maybe that sounded cheesy, but -"

"Jack's leaving," Rose interrupted, taking a deep breath.

"What?"

"Jack. He's leaving. They've put me off the mission because Alec isn't in Europe anymore. They 'ave to send someone, but someone - a field agent - has to stay here, too. And that's me. They're reluctant to put me without a partner, but there wasn't really any choice... unless you want to join the agency."

John gaped at her, speechless. Was she really offering for him to be an agent? "You actually want _me_ to be a spy?"

"Well," Rose grinned. "You'd definitely need some training, but... yes? If you want to, yeah. Why not?"

John began to agree, but before he could, Jack walked into the room, glancing at the three of them. "Hey, pretties," he chirped cheerily, and all three of them grinned. The man strode into the room, looking John up and down. "You're still here," he commented, clearly surprised.

Rose straightened her back and nodded. "He's not going to be leaving anything soon, either."

"Why? What have I missed."

"Well, since you're abandoning me-"

"Don't make me feel bad, Rose!" Martha snorted at Jack's interruption, shaking her head. John and Martha exchanged amused glances.

"- I figured a partner might be needed," Rose continued.

Jack smirked, his eyes flickering back to John. A look of approval crossed his gaze. "That is, if Matt agrees."

John frowned. "Matt?"

Rose snickered. "Our boss. But don't worry, I got in a few good words for you earlier, and he's pretty loose with things like this. Honestly, if you're okay with bowties and you can at least hold a gun, I'm sure he'll agree."

John didn't question the bowtie bit; he wasn't sure that he wanted to know what that was about, anyway. Jack rested his hands on his hips, grinning. "In which case, Johhny boy, you'll be needing a codename."

John wrinkled his nose, reaching his hand up to scratch the back of his head. "Oh."

Jack's eyes lit up as he saw John's uncertainty. "I've got something in mind, if you haven't." Slowly, John nodded for the agent to continue, silently hoping that he wouldn't suggest something like 'pretty boy'. Jack smiled. "How do you feel about 'the Doctor'?"

**A/N: So, after this, it'll technically begin to follow the episodes, beginning from season one (leaving out 'Rose'). In some small ways, the stories will be similar to the actual episode, but they will also be extremely different, too.**


End file.
